


Actual House Cat, Bucky Barnes

by AidaRonan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Stucky - Freeform, accidentally put a royal wedding in here, beware of toothaches, but works okay after civil war and black panther, housecat!bucky, in which we are all bucky barnes, just people who wanna eat and take naps, not exactly canon compliant, not infinity war though because we don't need that pain in our lives, not sorry, pastel stucky, simple life, the softest of boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 05:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15018026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidaRonan/pseuds/AidaRonan
Summary: Bucky loves food and naps and Steve Rogers.





	Actual House Cat, Bucky Barnes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CantSinkMyShip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantSinkMyShip/gifts).



> Some domestic fluff for my friend's birthday. Happy Birthday. Sorry it's (slightly) late but I can't help it that you didn't tell me it was your birthday until yesterday. ;)
> 
> (Also special thanks to Kels for throwing catbucky ideas at me.)

Steve would never admit it, but he still finds some kind of novelty in being able to literally pick up a sofa and move it like it’s a toy. No scooting it around and worrying about the floor scuffing or scratching. No having to bribe a buddy (or a boyfriend) with a beer. Two seconds. Hoist, move, and the sofa’s there under the window right where he decided it needed it to be.

Beams of sunlight form squares on the soft gray cushions, geometric patterns of light and warmth. He picks it back up and moves it a few inches to the right. It’s not center in the room, but-

Right on cue, Bucky hops down off the kitchen counter and tosses an apple core in the compost bin.

“Rearranging?” he asks, falling onto the cushions face-down. As predicted, the sun hits him below the shoulders. Without the small adjustment, it’d be in his eyes. Steve decides that symmetry is overrated.

“I thought it would go better here.”

He has to know it’s for him. All the times he found Bucky curled up on the floor below the window in a pile of throw pillows and blankets.

“S’warm,” Bucky mumbles, yawning.

“Yeah, Buck.” And Steve reaches down to brush his hair behind his ears. Buck turns his head slowly, angling it so Steve has better access to his jaw and neck. A few soft touches, and Bucky’s breathing deepens.

Steve smiles.

* * *

“Look, man, all I’m saying is that you can only get by on being older than Clint’s gym shoes for so long.” Sam’s jogging beside him, which takes a considerable effort on both their parts. He feigns tears. “It’s like you don’t even care about the list anymore, Steve.”

“You know you could just explain it.”

“Fine,” Sam says. “How do I put this into-oh, okay. Voldemort is Hitler, dude.”

“Oh.”

“The Death Eaters are Hydra.”

“I see.”

“This is actually easier to explain than I thought,” Sam says, stopping and bending over, his hands on his knees. He puts a hand up and vaguely waves it, miming something to the effect of ‘I’m okay.’

“Does that make me Harry Potter?” Steve asks.

“Don’t get cocky.” A few more breaths, clearly made with a lot of effort. “Though, Bucky and Ron would probably get along. Boy loves to eat.”

“And sleep.” Steve glances at his watch and feels his lips tick up, because it’s definitely one of Bucky’s standard nap times. 

“Still?”

“Still.”

“You do realize you’re married to a cat, right?” Sam asks. “Actual house cat, Bucky Barnes.”

“Stop,” Steve says, but he’s smiling. “And we aren’t married.”

“May as well be, and c’mon. Cranky when you don’t feed him. Always napping.”

“That describes a lot of people, Sam.”

“Do a lot of people fall asleep on top of the kitchen counter?”

“That was one time,” Steve says, but Sam’s jogging again—a little slower—and he’s in list mode.

“And the back of the couch and the recliner and the bathroom counter and the bath tub,” he says, “and on top of the coffee table.”

“I’m going to draw you in a really unflattering way later, Sam.”

“Fine fine, but I’m just sayin. Dude’s a cat.”

“You're being a real Malfoy right now,” Steve says, really hoping he used that right. Either way, Sam scowls at him and keeps running.

* * *

The apartment smells faintly of soap and fabric softener when Steve opens the front door. It’s also dead quiet except for the soft sounds of someone breathing. He checks his watch again. Bucky’s afternoon nap either ran late or he took an impromptu one after.

He really does sleep a lot, but Bruce says it’s normal. Probably necessary even.

_“It’s funny, you know? We’ve made super soldiers and actual working AI, but we’re still pretty confused by sleep,” Bruce had told Bucky (and Steve). “What we do know is that it helps you heal, and whatever Hydra did up there seems to be getting better.”_

His psychiatrist had concurred that while his mental health wasn’t perfect—understatement—he didn’t seem to be sleeping “in a negative way.” Whatever that means. Steve’s inclined to agree though, because Bucky never seems happier than right before and right after a nap.

Slipping off his shoes, Steve moves quietly from room to room, knowing that even a normal footstep can rouse him. He's gotten used to the everywhere naps, but he's still surprised to find Bucky in the middle of the living room, in the spot vacated by the recently-moved couch. There’s a pile of laundry underneath him, and he’s curled up in a little ball just like a-

“Dammit, Sam.”

Bucky’s eyes open at that, relaxing into a squint when they find only Steve.

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky says with a soft smile, stretching out his limbs.

“Comfortable?”

“Was warm,” he says. “You should try it.”  

He should. Peeling off his workout shirt, he crawls down into the laundry pile with him, letting Bucky settle onto the crook of his arm. Steve personally finds it lumpy and strange, but Bucky's content and very close, and that makes it the most comfortable place in the world.   
  
"Love you, Bucky." He strokes his hair until he falls back to sleep. 

* * *

Bucky doesn’t like to run with him and Sam. Steve thought it was Sam at first. He and Bucky hadn’t exactly taken to each other right away, even if they’ve managed some kind of okay in the interim. But Bucky insisted enough times that he actually likes running alone, that it gives him time to work through stuff and “blah blah blah clarity, you know?”

So he goes alone whenever he feels like it, runs one of the routes he’s mapped out around their neighborhood, and comes back to take a nap.

The gifts start coming on his second run. It’s sometime in autumn, and Steve’s serum-enhanced senses give him crisp air and pumpkin spice when Bucky lets himself in. Standing there in running leggings and a cozy red hoodie, Bucky pulls ear buds out of his ears. 

“I don’t know why New York’s gotta be way up here,” he says, unzipping the hoodie and shrugging out of it. “Too bad we love it.”

“Cold out there?” Steve asks, frowning slightly.

“Getting there.” Bucky’s already crawling onto the back of the sofa, splaying out over the sides. He balls the hoodie up and shoves it under his head. “I brought you something.”

“You...” Steve looks up to find Bucky’s hand vaguely extended in his direction. He’s twirling something red between his fingers. Steve gets up and takes it, stroking a hand across the back of Bucky’s head in the process.

It’s a leaf. To most people, that’s all it would ever be. But Steve sees why Bucky picked it up. The vibrant hue, the subtle shifts in shades, the crisp spiky edges, the veining. It’s not just a leaf—it’s a beautiful one.

“Hey, thanks Buck.”

“Love you, Stevie,” Bucky mumbles, already drifting.

Steve gets his sketchbook and takes the main part of the sofa that Bucky didn’t bother with. He draws the leaf first and then the boy.

There are more gifts after that. Somedays they’re simple—small rocks with interesting textures and features, interesting objects a lot of people would think of as only litter, more leaves. Other days, they’re things that probably took a little more thought—new pencils, fresh plums, old-fashioned peppermint sticks that remind Steve of sticky fingers on walks home from school. Steve keeps the ones he can on a shelf and savors the rest until they’re gone.

* * *

Sometimes Steve thinks about what it would be like if he was living the “Captain Rogers” life on the old Steve Rogers’ budget. He and Bucky burn through calories like hummingbirds even when they’re sitting still. Their food budget is probably half of Tony’s net income between groceries and so, so much take out—they have two whole drawers full of menus in the kitchen.

Bucky’s fishing through one now. Sometimes he’s in a mood for something specific. Other times, if he has no clue and Steve’s not in the mood for anything in particular either, he pretends he’s drawing for some kind of dinner raffle, grabbing a menu at random. This is one of those times. The rustling of paper, the quiet whir of metallic plates. He snatches out a winner and holds it up victoriously.

“Italian,” he says, giving Steve a crooked smile that makes him want to kiss Bucky breathless. (He does, right after he's placed the order.)

Enough food arrives to cater a small dinner party, and they eat it on the sofa, Bucky’s legs draped over his lap, his toes burrowing into the space between Steve and the arm of the couch.

“You remember Joe’s?” Bucky asks, between mouthfuls of garlic bread. Steve can smell that and the marinara and sharp parmesan and fennel.

“Of course I remember Joe’s.” The tiny Italian place Bucky took him to once on a Friday night. The prices weren’t bad, not even by their standards, but they were still a lot for either one of them. Bucky had saved for weeks apparently, doing odd jobs for neighbors, and he wouldn't let Steve even pretend to pay. They’d sat in a corner booth, staring at each other over plates of spaghetti and marinara, talking and laughing like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Hey, Buck, do you think that was our first date?”

Bucky’s got another mouthful of bread, but he’s smiling at him the whole time until he swallows.

“It was for me, and trust me, I knew exactly what I was doing." 

“Sorry for forgetting our anniversary then,” Steve says. “It’s been a long time.”  
  
Bucky grins and shrugs. 

“When you’re as old as I am, Stevie, exact dates don’t matter much.” Another bite, this one lasagna. “But it was April 18th, if you really did wanna know.”

They clear the empty food containers, and Bucky goes to sleep under the coffee table, wrapped in a Captain America throw Sam decided they  _had_  to have. Quietly, Steve rifles through the calendar on the wall and circles the date in red.

* * *

For as much time as he spends sleeping on every other surface in the apartment, Bucky sleeps in the bed just as much. Granted, sometimes he sleeps with his feet on the pillow end or horizontal with his legs trapping Steve beneath them. Or even diagonal with his heels on Steve’s back. But he’s there every morning. Always touching Steve somehow whether he’s curled against him or just maintaining one point of reassuring contact.

The alarm goes off at 5 a.m. on this particular morning, and Steve wakes up to Bucky’s face buried in the crook of his neck, his beard tickling his collarbone. He feels Bucky groan against his skin.

“Turn it off,” he growls.

Steve reaches over and hits the button, and Bucky snuggles deeper into his neck. He wishes they could stay there all day, and sometimes they do just that, but today that’s not really an option. T’Challa’s getting married, and they’ve got a long flight to catch. Steve nudges Bucky with his knee.

“Buck.”

“No.”

“Bucky.” He sweeps his hand through Bucky’s hair, scritching at his scalp. 

“Fuck off," he says, even as his head leans into the touch. 

“Language,” he says. Though honestly being able to openly swear is one of his absolute favorite things about the future. 

“Fucking fuck the fuck off.”

At that, Steve has no choice. He pulls out the ultimate weapon in his ‘wake Bucky up’ arsenal.

“ _James."_

A whir of Bucky’s arm, and Steve tumbles off the bed, landing on the plush rug. He’s laughing when he crawls back up, and Bucky’s glaring at him. But he’s awake, even if he’s got the blanket pulled up over his nose.

“If you get dressed fast enough, we can get breakfast on the way to the air strip.”

Bucky slowly climbs out of the blankets, grumbling the whole time.

* * *

Bucky naps almost the entire flight, only waking up to eat and flick stuff at Sam’s head with unbelievable accuracy.

“Rogers, get your boy,” Sam says, pulling a piece of paper out of his ear. But he’s giving it back as good as he’s getting it, using a rolled up seat back card to tickle Bucky’s socked feet when he’s asleep.

“Stevie, how mad will you be if I throw your best friend out of an emergency exit at 35,000 feet?”

“On a scale of one to ten, Buck, at least a three.”

“Worth it.” Bucky pulls his feet up under him and nuzzles onto Steve’s shoulder.  

“See, this is what I’m talking about, Steve,” Sam says. “How is that even comfortable?”

“S’warm, Wilson, go away.” 

“It’s warm, Sam.” Steve shrugs. 

“Two words. No, three.” Sam holds up three fingers, putting them down one by one as he speaks. “House. Cat. Husband.”

Bucky opens his eyes and aims a wicked look at Sam.

“Wilson, you do know what cats do to birds, right?” Bucky winks. Then quietly, so only Steve and maybe Peter can hear. “That husband thing doesn’t sound so bad though, Stevie.”

* * *

By the time they sit through the entire wedding, which is apparently an extra long affair in Wakanda even without adding on the coronation of a new queen, Bucky’s exhausted. A whole day and not a single nap? Doable, but he's clearly not a fan. Even if it is a way better ceremony than some standard church number. 

It’s only the promise of food Bucky hasn’t had since he went back to New York that gets him to the reception.

“White wolf!” someone yells the second they’re through the door. A young woman practically runs up to Bucky, pulling him into some kind of complicated handshake that ends in a warm hug. “How is the arm?”

“There’s a plate near the elbow that keeps sticking,” Bucky says.

“What did you get on it?” she asks.

“Why did I have to get-” he starts, but she’s already giving him a look. He sighs. “Plum jam.”

“We’ll open it up before you leave.”

“Stevie, have you met Shuri?” Bucky asks, nodding at her.

“No, but I’ve heard great things.”

“Nice to finally meet you, Captain,” she says. “And sorry you got stuck with this one. A menace.”

Bucky elbows her gently with his left arm, and she elbows him back before she spots another familiar face and goes to greet them.

"We should probably go congratulate the bride and groom," Steve says, thinking about getting them out of there as soon as possible before Bucky ends up asleep in the middle of the dance floor.

But Bucky won’t even start the process of getting to T’Challa and Nakia until he’s had food.

“I need either suya or sleep,” he says. Steve agrees to those terms, though he has no idea what suya is until Bucky pulls something off a stick and shoves it into his mouth.

“That’s...”

“Mhm.” Bucky beams at him when Steve grabs a plate.

Food or no food, Bucky’s still blinking a little slower than he would be most days by the time they make it to the newlyweds.

“Congrats, ‘Challa, 'Kia,” Bucky says, in a very sleepy, very casual way that Steve definitely cannot get away with. 

“King T’Challa,” Steve says with a nod, offering his hand.

“Captain Rogers.” A shake. “It is very good to see you again.”

“You too,” he says before turning to Queen Nakia. “And nice to meet you as well, your highness. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Captain, and thank you both for coming.”  

“Wouldn’t miss it, Key,” Bucky says. “I owe you a lot. Stevie too.”

T'Challa smiles and leans forward, lowering his voice. 

“Shuri made sure there was extra suya for you,” he says. “She said if we didn’t, no one else would get any.”

“Shuri’s too smart for her own good sometimes,” Bucky says, but he’s grinning.  

“Shuri is too smart for anyone’s good sometimes,” T’Challa laughs. “We are all very proud of her.”

There’s another round of congratulations after that, another run-in with Shuri who tells Bucky he should be in the lab at 10. Then they’re free. Bucky leads them to their room and promptly falls asleep on a desk in his suit.

He grumbles when Steve picks him up and moves him to the bed.

“Sorry, I’d leave you there but I really really want you next to me tonight.”

“Sap," Bucky says. 

“Only when it comes to you.”

There’s no resistance when he pulls Bucky into his arms, nuzzling his beard into the back of his neck before falling asleep. 

* * *

April 18th—small slip of paper, no fancy ceremony, just them (and Sam) down at City Hall. The next day, Bucky comes back from a run with a frame, and they hang it on the wall.

A giant box arrives later that afternoon—a wedding present from Tony. And on some level, Steve knows, an apology too.

_Been developing this new material for shock absorption in rockets. It sucks for that, but it’s comfortable as hell. Congrats, Cap’n Flagboy, Terminator. - Tony_

Bucky starfishes on it the second it unfurls.

“Stevie, tell Tony this is the best present I’ve ever gotten and that I’m almost not mad anymore that he tried to kill me and the love of my life. Almost.”

The next day, Steve comes home to find Bucky asleep in the box. A little exasperated and a lot in love, he pulls out his phone and takes a photo, shooting it off to Sam.

_Fine, you win._

All he gets back is a cat emoji.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://www.bisexualstarbucky.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/bistarbucky).


End file.
